Mistress of Greyladies (6 page)

Phoebe forced a smile and decided not to protest about these hints. Instead she bent her mind to finding a way to escape before Sunday. They were a long way out of the village here, especially if you were carrying a heavy suitcase. And she suspected they’d try to stop her, maybe take her things away from her, to force her to wait till Frank arrived.

She was determined to be away before then.

Yet it was Cousin Janet herself who offered her visitor a possible way of getting back to Swindon.

‘You were saying you felt like going out for a stroll. Do you think you could fetch the milk money from the stone near the gate tomorrow morning, Phoebe, love? Bob always leaves the payments for us on Thursdays, but we never know quite what time he’ll arrive, later than usual, anyway. If you go, it’ll save Horace hanging about after he puts out the milk for collection.’

‘Yes, of course. What time should I get to the gate?’

‘You could ride down with Horace and walk back once you get the money. It’s going to be another sunny day, so you could take one of your books and sit reading. I never saw anyone who reads as much as you do. You’ll addle your brain with all them books. Still, you won’t have time for reading once you’re wed and the children start coming, so you might as well enjoy it now.’

Phoebe breathed deeply and didn’t respond to this, waiting for the gentle flow of words to continue. She didn’t have to say much, just make the occasional noise or brief remark to show she was listening. Janet seemed starved of female companionship. Apart from her dislike of Frank, Phoebe didn’t want to live here in the middle of nowhere like Janet did.

‘I go into Swindon with Bob sometimes in the morning when I need to buy clothes and things you can’t find in the village. I get the bus back to the village afterwards and Horace picks me up when he takes the evening milk down to the gate. Bob’s a lovely fellow. Help anyone, he would. So … you’ll wait for the money tomorrow?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m happy to help in any way I can. It’ll be good to stretch my legs a bit.’

‘My legs have been stretched too much,’ Janet joked,
waggling one leg with its swollen ankle at her. ‘At my age, I get tired out by the end of the day. If Frank doesn’t take over this farm, we’ll have to think of selling in a year or two. Me and Horace are getting a bit old for all the hard work.’

She looked round and sighed. ‘I’d miss the place, though. I’ve lived in this house since we got married, though we had Horace’s father living with us at first. Perhaps when you marry Frank, you can persuade him to take over and let us live here. He could bring everything up to date and it’d pay better. It’s a lovely peaceful life and he’d be his own master. The lad’s had his fling, should be ready to settle down now, as I keep telling him.’

She shot a quick glance at Phoebe, as if to assess her reaction.

Frank wasn’t a
lad
in any sense that Phoebe knew. He was a bully and a lout, had been since he got his man’s growth. And he was lazy with it, never stirring himself unless he had to. ‘It’s early days for me to talk of marrying anyone, Janet. The country’s at war and I want to do my bit. I’m sure Frank does too.’

‘He doesn’t want to go into the army. He won’t put up with being ordered around, never has done, not even when he was a little boy. The times that schoolmaster gave him the cane! It upset me to see the weals. It never did any good, neither. Frank wouldn’t do as he was told if he set his mind against it, not if they killed him, he wouldn’t.’

She shook her head, her eyes blind with memories, and continued to reminisce. ‘That last year he didn’t even go to school half the time. The rascal used to forge my signature on notes saying he’d been ill. Well, he was ill sometimes. No one complained to me, though, so I didn’t say anything. I
think that schoolmaster was a bit afraid of him, he’d grown so big.’

Phoebe could imagine that. She’d be afraid of Frank, too, if she was stupid enough to marry him. Which she wasn’t.

She let Janet drone on till bedtime, then escaped to her room. As they had to go outside to the privy, no one would worry if they heard her go downstairs during the night.

She packed her clothes as quickly as she could, thankful that it was a moonlit night, then lay down fully dressed till Cousin Horace began snoring and Janet stopped talking.

As she crept across the farmyard, the dog started up, making soft huffing noises, but settled down quietly when she spoke to him.

The bag was heavy and as she walked down the lane, she had to swap it from side to side. Her fingers were hurting and she couldn’t walk quickly. She didn’t like being out on her own in the night and stopped a couple of times, thinking she’d heard something, her heart beating faster. But it must just have been her imagination.

She sighed in relief when she got to the milkstone, a big, flat slab of rock laid across two low drystone pillars. It was designed to hold the full milk churns ready to be collected and taken to the dairy. She looked round for somewhere to hide her case nearby, settling in the end for behind a big clump of nettles.

That cost her a few blisters, but she picked some dock leaves and rubbed them on the itchy bits. She didn’t think Cousin Horace would go fumbling amid the nettles. Even the dogs took care not to poke their noses too near the stinging plants. Luckily the ground was dry and she scuffed the dust around to hide her footprints.

Then she walked back to the farm and upstairs to her room.

‘That you, Phoebe?’ a sleepy voice called.

‘Yes.’

‘You were gone a long time.’

‘I’ve got a bit of an upset stomach. I think I’m all right now, though.’

‘Let me know if it starts again and I’ll give you some of my special mixture.’

‘I will. Goodnight, Janet.’

Phoebe thought she’d have difficulty getting back to sleep but she was so tired, she fell asleep almost immediately.

When Phoebe woke up, it was time to go with Horace to set out the big milk churns for collection, which he did before breakfast.

She needed to put something into her stomach. ‘I’m hungry today, Cousin Janet. All right if I have a piece of bread and butter before I go?’

‘I’ll cut one for you. And some of my strawberry jam, too, eh?’

Which made Phoebe feel guilty. She kissed Janet’s cheek, but the older woman wasn’t satisfied with that and pulled her back for a hug, exclaiming, ‘It’s grand to have you here, lass. Grand.’

How did such a kind woman get a son like Frank? Phoebe wondered. The nastiness must come from his father’s side.

When they got to the big stone slab, Horace paused before he lifted the first milk churn out of the cart, staring at the patch of greenery nearby. ‘Something’s been in them nettles.’

Phoebe stiffened, terrified he’d investigate. ‘Perhaps it was a fox.’

‘Animals usually has more sense than to get themselves stung. But the dog would be barking if anything was there
now, so you’ll be all right. Keep your eyes open, though. Here.’ He reached under the cart seat for a walking stick with a thick handle and gave it to her.

‘You watch out for yourself, girl. There are some odd types tramping the roads. Use this if you have to. It’s nice and heavy. And come straight back when you get the milk money.’

‘Um … thank you.’ She took the stick, feeling worse than ever to be running away when they were so kind to her.

She watched Horace drive the empty cart back to the farm, then dragged her bag out of the nettles, earning a few more blisters in the process. Again she rubbed dock leaves on her skin, but the blisters were still itchy.

After that, she had nothing to do but wait for Bob to come and collect the milk.

Time seemed to pass very slowly and half an hour had gone by, according to her mother’s little fob watch, by the time she heard the sound of a big motor vehicle chugging along the narrow country lane.

When Bob stopped, he called, ‘Hello, lass. What are you doing here? Come to collect the money for Horace?’

‘No, he’s coming down for it later. I wanted to ask you for a lift into Swindon. I need to find a job.’

‘Horace was saying you might be staying with them for a while, you being friendly with their Frank, like.’

She decided to stick as close to the truth as she could. ‘They hope so, but I’m not courting Frank. He’s not my type.’

Bob nodded. ‘Sensible of you. I know Janet thinks the world of him, but he’s a bit of a rough sort, that one is. He knocks around with people I’d not like my son to call friends.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I don’t say anything to Horace and Janet, but you stay away from him, girl. His
type will thump a wife as soon as look at her. What sort of life is that for a woman?’

She was surprised Bob would say this to her. ‘I agree.’

‘Ah. I thought you was a sensible lass.’

When they got to the outskirts of Swindon, Bob dropped her off at a bus stop, then rumbled away down the road.

She felt very alone as she stood there, and nervous of running into Frank. In fact, she was starting to wonder if she’d be better moving to another town. Only, she knew Swindon and didn’t really want to leave it. And after all, Frank could hardly attack her in the street, could he? She’d just have to be a bit careful till he accepted that she wasn’t going to marry him.

And if that lost her the curtain-making things stored in the shed at the farm, well, better lose money than lose your freedom by marrying a brutal man.

She deposited her big squashy bag in the left-luggage office at the station, and trudged the streets looking for work. She went into shops where she was known to ask if they’d heard about any jobs. Some insisted on making her a cup of tea which took time, but she didn’t want to upset them.

Just as she’d given up hope, she saw a job sign outside one of the big pubs that did meals for working men. It wasn’t a very good job: in the kitchens clearing up, washing dishes, peeling vegetables as needed. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and it might see her through for a while.

‘The kitchen hand has gone and volunteered for the army. The dratted fool might have waited till the war got going,’ the manager grumbled. ‘He just up and left without giving notice. Still, it’ll be cheaper hiring a woman. Ten shillings a week.’

Phoebe didn’t like the looks of the man and these words annoyed her. ‘I’m going to need more than that, because I’ll have to pay for lodgings. You pay a man more, after all.’

‘You can live in. A couple of the other women do. There’s space in the attics, plenty of beds and bedding up there, as much food as you can eat, what with kitchen leftovers … and ways of earning a bit extra.’

The way his eyes flickered over her breasts made her take a quick step backwards and shake her head. ‘No, thanks. I don’t think it’d suit me to live in. I’ll look elsewhere.’

‘Sure?’

‘Very sure.’ She thought he was going to touch her and jerked back again.

‘Please yourself. But jobs don’t grow on trees, you know, not jobs with accommodation provided.’

She shuddered as she walked outside. Men like him seemed to be popping up everywhere lately, she couldn’t understand why. She didn’t encourage them, nor did she dress in a way that would make people think she was free and easy.

Of course she had to bump into Frank when she hurried outside without checking first, didn’t she? The last person she wanted to see till she’d found a job and lodgings.

He barred her way when she would have nodded and walked on. ‘What the hell are you doing in Swindon?’

‘Looking for work.’

‘You don’t need to find work. You can stay at the farm.’

‘I do need to work. I like to earn my own way in the world.’

‘Then I’ll find you something to do.’

‘I’d rather find my own job.’ A clock outside a jeweller’s shop caught her eye. ‘I have to get on now, before the shops close.’

‘Where are you staying?’

She hesitated, but didn’t want him finding her somewhere to sleep. He was too big, too … overpowering. ‘Next door to the shop, with my old neighbours. I left some of my things there.’

He followed her gaze to the clock. ‘Dammit. I have to meet someone. Look, I’ll collect you from your neighbours and take you out to tea somewhere nice. We’ll talk about a job then.’

She nodded and hoped her smile was convincing, but the look he gave her made her shiver.
That sort of look
. She didn’t want his help, didn’t want to be in his power. But where was she going to sleep if she didn’t go to Mrs Harby?

She walked round the rest of Regent Street, but there were no other jobs advertised in shop windows. She hesitated about where to go next. Should she go to the Harbys’ and sleep on their sofa? No, Frank would be coming there to look for her.

Perhaps she should find some lodgings and carry on searching the next day? Yes, that would be safer. She was careful with her money and had a savings bank account, as well as the banknotes from the Steins, which she was going to stitch into the lining of her handbag as soon as she could buy some stronger needles and thread of the right colour. She’d only use them in an emergency, though, and if she did, she’d pay her former employers back after the war was over.

Yes, that was what she’d do next, find a room. It was getting late.

She stopped walking for a moment, still not sure she was doing the right thing. If she got a job in Swindon, she was bound to bump into Frank regularly. Surely he’d get tired of pestering her if she didn’t give him any encouragement?

She shivered. Would he, though? He’d made her feel nervous today, as if he was intending to take over her life by force if necessary. But she didn’t want to go anywhere else. It was daunting to think of being on your own in a strange town where you didn’t know a single person and couldn’t even find your way around.

And what was she doing standing in a shop doorway like an idiot? She’d noticed a small hotel near the station which advertised itself as a ‘family hotel’ and had a vacancies sign in the window. She’d try there. It wasn’t too far from the station.

Even that wasn’t easy. The lady behind the counter studied her, eyes narrowed. ‘On your own, are you?’

‘Yes. I lost my job when my employers moved away. I’m looking for work.’

‘Where’s your luggage?’

‘At the station, in the left-luggage office.’

‘Shouldn’t a young woman of your age be staying with family?’

‘I don’t have any family, only some cousins who live out on a farm. There are no jobs there, so I’ve come back into Swindon.’

‘Who were you working for?’

She hesitated and saw suspicion grow on the woman’s face, so told the truth. ‘I was working for Mr and Mrs Stein. They’re Austrians not Germans, but they were taken into custody because they’re foreigners, so I’m out of work.’

Expecting to be told there were no rooms, she was given a smile instead. ‘Ah. I thought your face looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. The Steins made the new curtains for the hotel sitting room last year. They did a lovely job of it, too. I agree the government has to be careful with foreigners, but
I can’t imagine
them
harming anyone. All right. I’ll give you a room. I’m Mrs Falshaw, by the way.’

Phoebe let out her breath in a whoosh. ‘Oh, thank goodness! It’s getting a bit late to be wandering the streets looking for a room.’

Mrs Falshaw reached for a key. ‘No men allowed in the bedrooms, mind.’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you do meals?’

‘No. But I’ll provide you with a pot of tea and two biscuits for sixpence and there’s a shop on the corner which stays open till nine. They’ll do you a sandwich and they usually have some little cakes.’

‘Thanks. I’m very grateful to you.’

‘That’s all right. I don’t like to think of a decent young woman walking the streets. I’ll have to ask you for payment in advance, though.’

Phoebe paid the money and was taken up to a small but clean room and provided with a ewer of cold water to wash in.

‘Hot water is twopence extra.’

‘I’d rather save my pennies and use cold, thank you. What time does the left-luggage office close, do you know?’

‘It’s open till midnight. Come to the desk when you want your pot of tea, but make it before half past nine. We close the hotel at ten.’

It was lovely to have a quiet room and some time to simply sit without having to chat. After a while, Phoebe realised the shadows were lengthening and the sun had started to go down. She’d better go and buy something to eat before the corner shop closed.

The shop owner was very obliging and made her a ham sandwich.

‘We get quite a few people coming in at this time for something to eat,’ the woman said, obviously in a chatty mood. ‘Off the trains, usually. We don’t often have much bread left over by the end of the evening.’

‘It must give you a long working day, though.’

‘I don’t mind. I put my feet up for an hour in the afternoon and leave things to my husband. There you are. A shilling with the bun.’

Outside Phoebe was tempted to sit in a small public garden nearby for a few moments, enjoying the cool evening air. She saw a man come into the garden and tensed, ready to get up and run, but he chose another bench to sit on and didn’t even glance in her direction once he’d sat down. He was a bit older than her, quite good-looking, though rather thin. She liked his face, which had an intelligent look to it.

After a while, she decided she’d better get back to the hotel and stood up.

Someone called from the street. ‘Phoebe? Is that you?’

Oh, no! It was Frank. Why did she keep bumping into him?’ She watched him amble across, not hurrying, but still making her feel like prey being hunted.

‘Mrs Falshaw said you’d gone to the corner shop.’

‘Why would she tell you anything about me?’

‘Because I went round asking at places where you might have found a room. I was worried about you. Your old neighbours haven’t seen you. Why did you lie to me?’

‘Because I want to find my own job, make my own life.’

‘Sit down. I need to talk to you.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you, Frank. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.’

In spite of her protests and struggles, he took hold of her
arm and dragged her to the nearest bench, sitting her down on it forcibly. ‘I’m
not
having you wandering around this part of town on your own at night.’

‘It has nothing to do with you whether I
wander
or not.’

‘Oh, yes, it does. I promised Horace and Mum I’d keep an eye on you. They’re worried about you, what with the war and everything. Anyway, I’ve found you a job and you can start tomorrow.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Working in a laundry.’

‘I don’t want to work in a laundry.’

‘It’s just temporary till we get married.’

She gaped at him. ‘Who said we’re getting married?’

‘I told you before. I know I should have asked you properly but I realised when I took you and those curtain materials out to the farm how well we’d suit. You’re a clever woman and pretty with it, and you haven’t been going with anyone else. I’m going to need a wife like you after the war, and it makes sense for us to get married straight away, because the married men won’t be called up yet. By the time they are, I’ll have worked out how to avoid going into the army.’

Was this his idea of a marriage proposal? Well, it wasn’t hers. She was so astonished by his arrogance that she couldn’t speak for a moment, then she bounced to her feet. ‘We are
not
getting married, Frank – not now, not ever. You aren’t my type, and anyway, I don’t want to marry anyone.’

He gave her a sneering smile. ‘Of course you want to get married. All women do. They need a breadwinner.’

So she said it bluntly. ‘I’ve been trying to be polite, but the truth is, I don’t want to marry
you
, Frank. I don’t think we’d suit at all.’

He scowled at her. ‘You’ll get used to the idea.’

‘I won’t! I don’t even like you to touch me.’